


Weights All Around Yourself

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has to end--this <i>thing</i> between them.  Chapel's just waiting for the right time to act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weights All Around Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the mccoy_chapel holiday fic exchange for sharpestscalpel.
> 
> Prompt: _Something where Chapel is the aggressor - perhaps Bones is just shy, is nervous about sexual harassment, thinks Chapel is involved with someone else, whatever. Chapel isn't going to sit around and wait for a man to make the first move; Bones is appropriately awesome in response_
> 
> Thanks to bether for the reading and concrit on not just one, but two drafts of this sucker. It wouldn't be anything coherent without her help. Also, thanks to sleepygoof8784 for the cheerleading. :)

“Chapel, in my office. _Now_.”

When he gave his now-familiar order, she wanted to treat it like an experiment. Just what would he do if she didn’t follow him? Transfer her? Send her to the depths of the requisition department to find some obscure object they had to have in Sickbay?

She was right about how long Jacobs had been waiting patiently on the biobed for someone to look at him and about the treatment she’d neatly prescribed while McCoy had been busy, and about (nearly) every other issue thrown her way since they’d started working together over a year ago. It was just hard for him to admit that she was right in front of everyone. Again. She imagined saying this to him in the middle of sickbay, then being written up for insubordination and the oh-so understanding look on the captain’s face as he signed off on her time in the brig. It was a lovely image and one she’d contemplated many times before.

It would be worth it too, because she knew McCoy would feel truly regretful about his rash actions and then he would have to apologize and then—

Well, it was a daydream of course. She’d never be _completely_ unprofessional, no matter how many times she’d had fantasies of McCoy in the act of contrition. Instead, she obediently followed his ramrod figure, swaying her hips for good measure as she walked.

This had to end—it had to, or Christine was going to lose her shit one day in the middle of alpha shift and ask him, point blank, if he wanted to fuck her over his desk in his office already so that they could get on with what needed to be done. That would go over well, wouldn’t it?

Christine imagined it—the shock on his face, the “well it’s about time” comments from the nurses who’d been watching them dance around each other for the better part of a year now.

No, it was better to bide her time and wait for just the right moment, a moment where his guard was down and he was ready to do something about this _thing_ between them.

*

It was a normal day because Chapel was, once again, up in arms over some little problem—most likely the stack of PADDs he’d surreptitiously laid on her desk that morning while she’d been distracted with directing Alyssa Cooper (her newest charge) on how to appropriately label the supply closet—and burst into his office to tell him just how _annoyed_ she was by it all.

But when the door swished closed behind her, Christine had found McCoy in an undignified position on his hands and knees, searching for the pin to his pocket watch that had decided to spring free when he opened it for the umpteenth time that morning. A nervous habit that, and a useless one, since the chronometer was much more accurate and did not require constant winding. But he enjoyed the history of the watch and the solid feel of it when he held it in his hand, thrumming on now-obsolete batteries.

He didn’t enjoy it so much though when his damned watch caused him to be discovered by Nurse Chapel on the floor of his office with his ass in the air. It wasn’t dignified. Not at all.

To her credit, she didn’t say any of the comments he was sure were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she crouched down and asked in a low voice, “Can I help you, Doctor?”

“Small. Metal. Lost,” he muttered. They had a verbal shorthand most people didn’t understand. It was something he had come to appreciate greatly, especially in times of emergency when split seconds could mean life or death.

Christine started to run her hands along the floor as well, searching for the tiny piece of his sanity. With two of them looking, it only took a few minutes to locate the missing pin, though they kept bumping into each other in those short moments and murmuring apologies with each small brush of hands and arms.

“Here,” she said when they were both standing, uniforms only slightly mussed. She gently placed the metal pin in his open hand and he thanked her, ignoring the way a tendril of hair had escaped her neat knot and her cheeks had a light flush to them. He was ignoring it so well that it took him a while to notice that she was giving him a strange look, as if coming to a sudden decision.

This should be good.

“I think that, given the circumstances of our present situation—” she began.

“Circumstances?”

“You know, you being my commanding officer and the fact that we work so closely together.”

“Oh.” He could see where this was going. And really, it was no surprise that she was calling him out on his less-than-reasonable demeanor, but goddammit she frustrated the hell out of him. It didn’t help that she’d taken to wearing the miniskirt uniform option lately and _smiling_ at him when he was in his foulest moods. Who did that, anyway?

“As I was saying, I think that given our circumstances, we should definitely—sleep together. Tomorrow night,” Christine said in a rush.

Wait, what?

“What?” he sputtered, mouth gaping open. He’d been expecting something more along the lines of _Stop being such a surly ass_ , but in that nicer Christine Chapel way.

She smiled winningly. “Just think about it, McCoy. Give me an answer tomorrow after shift.” She touched her fingers to his cheek in a light caress and he just stood there, watching her hips sway slightly as she exited his office.

*

Their shift together following her proposition (she liked to say the word “proposition” because it made it sound dirtier) was truly fantastic. McCoy did not know what to do with her. He kept looking over at her tentatively as if she was going to jump over one of the biobeds and follow through on her promise to sex him up right then and there.

Okay, so she did have one recurring fantasy involving restraints and a biobed, but that had never included an audience and there was definitely one here. He was safe.

But she did have a whole lot of fun smiling innocently at him, especially when he was looking so damn…bewildered. It made her wonder if his answer was going to be a resounding “yes” tonight or if he was going to bury himself under a pile of PADDs and claim work as an excuse.

She glanced at the chronometer on the wall and saw that they had three hours left. Her eyes flickered over to McCoy and she noticed he was doing the same thing.

Interesting. She smiled at him again, but he turned away, muttering under his breath.

*

She was stalking him.

McCoy raised his eyes from the PADD in front of him and saw his head nurse circling the rec room, flitting like a dangerous butterfly to first her good bud Janice Rand, then the sleepy-eyed Chekov and Sulu curled up on the only couch (but not too close to each other), then the young Cooper who was chatting with a now-recovered Jacobs from engineering, before finally propping her hip against the arm of a cushy chair so that she could peer over Uhura’s shoulder to offer suggestions on how best to beat Spock in their game of 3-Dimensional Scrabble.

She never looked his way, but McCoy felt as if she was scrutinizing him anyway, as if she was assessing his reaction to what she’d proposed yesterday. He wondered if she could read anything from his slouched position in the chair.

He kept his position, though, pretending to be busy with last-minute work on his PADD (he was scrolling through the newsfeeds, actually), while Christine did everything she could to talk to everyone in the room _but_ him. She continued to do this while he read the same damn line on the screen ten times before giving up when she finally fell into a chair across from him with a sigh.

“Long day?

“The day was okay.” She crossed her legs so that the miniskirt flashed more thigh—much more than she ever allowed herself to show on shift.

“Not too certain about the evening, though.” After her bout of confidence in his office yesterday and the air of nonchalance she’d affected in the last few minutes, McCoy was surprised to see that her fingers were trembling slightly on the arm of the chair and that she was surreptitiously adjusting her skirt with the other hand, as if embarrassed it was so short.

As if the man she was talking to didn’t appreciate what she had to offer. God, he was an ass.

Placing the PADD on the small table between them, he made it clear she had his full attention—not that she hadn’t already stolen it the moment she’d sauntered into the room as if she owned it.

He leaned forward. “I heard that the food in the mess tonight is terrible, but don’t spread it around—I value my life.” The head cook was a force to be reckoned with and took his job _very_ seriously. One did not go around spreading malicious (and completely unjustified) rumors about mediocre food without consequences.

“Really? I heard there was pie and—“

“ _Terrible_ ,” he said again.

Her nerves looked to have disappeared as she appraised him knowingly. “Not very hungry, Dr. McCoy?”

“Not even a little. I have some fine brandy left from Christmas in my quarters. Would you like to join me for a drink?

“Love to.”

Knowing for a fact that she hated brandy, he grinned at her and resisted offering his arm after they both rose from their seats. It wouldn’t do to appear too obvious, especially since now Janice Rand was giving him the eye and Chekov, of all people, was looking less sleepy and more interested in what the CMO was doing following Christine Chapel out of the rec room.

*

It was strange, this rush of power she could feel pulsing through her veins as she leaned against the wall closest to the door of his quarters and well, stared at him. She held a glass of vodka and ice in her hand (he’d scrounged up a bottle of it from somewhere—most likely it was from the store Scotty kept in his office for a certain young navigator), while he kept taking sips from the small amount of brandy he’d poured into his own glass.

McCoy patted the seat next to him on the couch, but Christine shook her head and took another drink, licking her lips first because he was starting to stare back. This was too much fun and she couldn’t decide what she wanted to do _first_.

Clearing his throat, he motioned to the console. “I could stream a film? I know Janice has added a few good ones in the last few weeks.” Chapel knew, through Janice, that Jim was a notorious snob when it came to entertainment, but that McCoy had educated him in the finer genres, such as mindless action romps. The result of this was a wide array of films with titles like “Fire Hard and Fast” now available for the crew’s enjoyment.

“That’s an option,” she said and started to move towards him as her flirting from a distance was really just hurting herself. Instead of attacking him, though, like he apparently expected from the way his shoulders braced, she plopped down next to him on the couch.

His sigh, quiet though it was, sounded through the room as he programmed the film to begin. McCoy stretched his arm along the back of the couch, subtly inviting her to snuggle in if she so chose.

Deciding to torment him with indecision, she ignored the invitation and focused on the movie. Well, ignored him until the second grand explosion when she sidled up closer to him and placed her hand on his thigh. There, McCoy. How’s that for an attack?

“Chris—“

“Shh,” she urged. Her hand moved further up of its own volition and he spread his legs accommodatingly. Oh my. Her hands almost trembled in just how much she wanted to reach out and _take_ all this man had to offer. She was ready to drop to her knees and demonstrate this graphically, but his hand shot out to grab her arm. She wondered if he could feel her pulse skittering from just that simple touch.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” he burst out and the latent blush she’d noticed from her perusal of him before spread from his neck to his face and most likely down his chest. Not that she could see that far down, damn it. At least not yet.

He let go of her and she stood up in front of him, gnawing on her lower lip and tilting her head, as if he was her science experiment she had yet to understand—which he kind of was. What exactly made Leonard McCoy tick?

“You look good in uniform, McCoy,” she murmured at last.

His eyes answered her, climbing up her bare legs (she’d lost the boots when the movie had started) to linger on the hem of her skirt and then upwards to the way her uniform was clinging to her breasts. There was heat in his expression now, echoing all that she had been thinking—the experiment became solvable. She quickly straddled him, taking the drink already hanging limply in this left hand, and placing it on the tiny table next to the couch, then using both of her hands to hold him steady so that she could kiss him.

There was teeth and tongue and his hands were _finally_ on her, trailing down her back to grip her ass and move her where it would do the most good. His kisses became deeper the more she angled her hips to rub against him and every touch felt so damn good.

So, of course, that was the moment he broke his mouth away to say, “In case you were wondering, I have an answer to your question.”

“Huh?” He was deciding to talk now? Now that she finally had his hands on her and the skirt of her uniform was practically around her waist?

“Your question,” his warm, warm hands snaked up to cup her breasts. “The answer is yes. I think we should definitely have sex.”

Point to McCoy, she thought and raised her arms to allow him to remove her uniform completely.

Another movie explosion sounded in the background, but neither noticed.

*

The next morning, McCoy had just settled at his desk to start on the day’s work when Christine burst into this office, all righteous indignation and flying hair.

“Yes, Nurse Chapel?” he asked politely, steepling his fingers and bracing for impact, knowing it wouldn’t be a light explosion.

“I can’t believe,” she took a breath, “you would—”

“I take it you found the flowers,” he interrupted.

“ _Everyone_ saw the flowers, McCoy, so now I have to deal with questions and sidelong glances and—fucking Kirk giving me knowing looks when he sees me in the corridor.”

He tried not to smile at that. It was pretty funny that the last person either of them wanted to know what they were up to caught Chapel sneaking out of McCoy’s quarters in the wee hours of the morning. Well, he could find it humorous because McCoy hadn’t had to face him yet and because he’d heard the stories of all the other people Kirk had found doing the walk of shame at 0300. Their captain had bouts of both insomnia and just plain nosiness. Someone should be monitoring his actions so that they could counter all the blackmail he was accumulating. There had to be something he wanted kept private, besides all the dirt from their academy days (most of which the man was _proud_ of—it was sickening). McCoy would have to mention this to Chekov, one of the ones caught leaving certain rooms at odd hours of the morning.

Because he had to know, because it was in the forefront of his mind ever since she’d propositioned him right here in this office, he asked, “Do you regret it?”

Her answer was immediate and said while sinking into the chair across from him. “Not in the slightest.”

“Why?”

“It was either that or we were going to kill each other one day. It would have been messy and violent and well, this was much better.”

The woman had a point but it didn’t really calm the panicked feeling in his chest. “Want to do it again?”

“Only if we have dinner first. Really, McCoy, pretending that food offered in the mess is not worthy for consumption is not a very gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” he countered. “Not when you were doing that tongue thing. Not even when you were begging me for more.”

“Right. Wait, I did not _beg_.”

“Hmm.” He could see the temper returning and sat back to watch.


End file.
